


Light of the Lifestream

by ms_munechika



Series: My Darkness, My Light [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ficlet, Light Angst, Tragic Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_munechika/pseuds/ms_munechika
Summary: A little glimpse of an exchange between the Warrior of Light and Emet-Selch.Set during the Quest: "In Good Faith"Shadowbringers Spoilers, as always.(Rating set to M just in case. Not truly explicit, just some adult themes. <3 )





	Light of the Lifestream

_The Rak'tika Forest_

Emet-Selch watched her, this supposed hero of heroes. The titled "Warrior of Light". The vaunted hero of the Source. She smiled at her friends, these so-called Scions, as they departed her side for Fanow. Emet-Selch had just--out of _good_ faith--pulled their sorceress Mi'qote from the Lifestream after the reckless woman had thrown herself into it. These fractured souls always seemed to have such an issue with self-sacrifice. Animals whose instinct always bled down to preservation. Of course, as his eyes caught the "hero", her smile as radiant as the suffocating Light of the First, he couldn't... Even if he were to close his eyes, the color of her soul pulled at the door of his heart, precious and painful memories he had tried--and failed--to forget.

The problem with being one of the Paragons, Emet-Selch could see the colors of most souls around him. Naturally, most of these husks were so diluted that they would nary catch his eye even if he were in a room full of mortals. But _her_...

Of course he had _heard_ of the Warrior of Light, Elidibus' near ceaseless explanation for re-summoning Emet-Selch including much of the woman's exploits in the Source. At the time, he had not considered exactly how or why she had done any of it; nothing mattered except that she _had_. Of course, fates be damned, he was bound to run into her eventually. Inevitably. But he hadn't exactly expected her on the First of all places. _Yes_, he had followed a thread--the reports of the Source's great hero losing her friends into some odd slumber. The ripple of power that tickled on his skin. But... to _see_ her... It was almost too much to bear.

And so as he stood there beside her, having done his "good deed" for _her_, he was unsurprised to see her turn to him, her eyes meeting his. When she smiled, as brilliant as the blinding Light of the First, Emet-Selch had to look away. Her, in that moment, cracked open the defenses he had laid within himself over the eons--a memory he had locked away for the sake of his duty, not-so-gently resurfacing. Still, the pain in his heart wanted so much for the "illusion" to be real, to believe what his mind could not (and would not) conceive as possible. "Just a trick," he repeated to himself in the silence of his mind, a gloved hand reaching to cover his mouth. "Just a trick of the light..."

"Thank you," she stated, as warm as a fireplace on a cold night. (She really was a stubborn one, wasn't she? ... _She always had been, really..._) "As much as I question your motives, it was very kind of you to do such a thing. Perhaps it may seem simple to you, but it is true... losing someone you love... is something that one never gets used to."

Emet-Selch grit his teeth. The so-called Mother certainly had a wicked sense of humor, he thought, having Her champion say such words to _him_... That the warrior had no idea the meaning of her words at the moment didn't surprise him, but it was cruel when she came in that guise, with that soul. _Too cruel_. For the Mother to bring _her_ back when he had embraced blissful death, to have her be the reason he returned to his work. To place her in front of him! And for her to be only a shell who knew not the way her words would bite.

_Knew not the memories of their shared--and forgotten--past._

Never mind the smile that brought to him memories of a happier time, a happier place. A place in time before his heart knew the true depths of sorrow. How sincere that look, that curve of her lips. He could almost hear that near-forgotten voice... _'Hades!'_ she would call out and he...

No, no. It was a trick of the light, he repeated again, exhaling a deep breath to calm himself. (It wasn't true, but all his careful plans needed his complete dedication. To be overcome now meant risking everything he had spent thousands upon thousands of _lifetimes_ of building. For his people. For his world.)

How long he had stood like that, he wasn't sure--time being quite different for him and those like him. But a gentle touch on his arm threw Emet-Selch back into the present, his gold eyes clearing as he turned to see the great hero gazing up at him, her lips slightly parted. The look of concern in her eyes, however minuscule, threw whatever reasoning he had and sent it straight into the void. Into the place between worlds and time, between reality and memory. The first she had shown true kindness to him... as he was _now_.

And, oh, how her touch _**burned**_.

Fire against his skin, even under the extravagant trappings of his coat and robes.

If the eons of solitude hadn't driven him a little mad, that one sensation alone tipped the scale into imbalance. Emet-Selch drew himself up, his back straightening like a board as a gloved hand shot out to grab a hold of the Warrior of Light's wrist. If he were anyone else, he would have been surprised at how small her wrists felt in his large hand, but he _knew_ why her strength was beyond that of any mortal shard around her. And yet, under his grip, she was like the gentle waters of a brook, perhaps too shocked to resist.

And so, he pulled her behind the bough of a wide and ancient tree, its width far more than he needed to keep away any prying eyes. With the swift yet elegant motions of a man who had played the parts of emperor and adviser so many times, he pushed her back against the tree, his face mere ilms apart from hers. No longer did he look away, his gold eyes staring deep into her own, the windows of her soul. The glimpse enough was that there could be no denying...

"Are you truly so ignorant," he seethed, his breath against hers, "that you do not realize _why_ I do these things? Do you truly believe that I do all this for anyone but _you_?"

She stared at him, his words obviously hitting his intended mark. Perhaps she had noticed, after all, noticed how his eyes never left hers, that he spoke with his gaze always to her and her alone. That he cared little for the opinions of the others, only appeasing them for _her_ benefit. Her eyes reflected in his, silence except for their breathing and the sounds of the forest around them... with anyone else, this might have been...

Their lips met, neither knowing who exactly had breached the space between them, his gloved fingers digging into her hair, pulling her head to tilt back so that he might access her mouth easier, his tongue darting inside her mouth, dragging against her teeth and dancing against her tongue. Her hands balled the fabric of his coat, the fur lining of it, into tights fists. He swore that he felt not her pushing; rather pulling him closer, so close that he pressed against her, bodies flush against one another as he leaned against the tree.

It was a fierce exchange, more battle than tenderness, the loneliness of eons pressing out any rational thought in Emet-Selch, too entranced with the feel of this imperfect reflection under his hands. Pressing a knee up between her legs, she pulled her lips from his, gasping heavily with her eyes closed tight. She shook against him, utterly at his mercy, and--as his eyes focused--his heart felt the tension of his near eternity since the sundering of his home, of those he had lost...

And he pulled away just as quickly as they had come together, a gloved hand over his lips. No, he hadn't really wanted to do so, but any more and he would lose all control. (It was hard enough as it was.)

Of course, Emet-Selch could feel her gaze on him, her breath still in his ears, her gasps ringing in his mind. He only half turned back, not risking to look upon the Warrior of Light's face, to meet her eyes with his.

His duty was more important than whatever he wanted. That was how it was, as it had been from the start.

"Your friends are waiting for you, hero," Emet-Selch began. "'Tis best we get back to work, no?"

After a prolonged moment, he shut his eyes as he listened to her turn away, walking back towards Fanow. As her footsteps faded, his fingers touched his lips as his gold eyes shut. In the quiet, he allowed himself to mark the feel of her in a corner of his mind, to let it linger. It was an indulgence, but he had so few of those in all the years of his life. Just once, he would let himself have this, a temporary weakness.

A temporary weakness in exchange for a moment of respite against the eternal pain of his loss. That was not too much to ask for, was it?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has supported me and continues to support me! It's a little crazy how many of us have come to just love Emet-Selch and I've been trying hard to figure out how to best write him (and give him some much needed love). I have too many ideas, too much content in FFXIV to do (lol), and not enough time.
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience and your comments/thoughts/kudos are much appreciated and so. very. wonderful.
> 
> Love to you all! <3


End file.
